


You'll Find a Way

by precious_passenger (orphan_account)



Series: Goodnight, Sweetheart [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Episode: s03e14 On My Way, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/precious_passenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is David Karofsky's POV of the multiple chapter story, Unanswered Goodbyes. Part three of "Goodnight, Sweetheart" series .Reading the original fic is not required, at all. I'll explain everything when needed. M rated for discussions of suicide attempt, depressing thought. Homophobia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I walk into the hallways with the phone in my hands. The first period has just ended and I know that in five minutes the bell alerting the second period would ring out in McKinley. Kurt has Home-Ec and then math. One of the perks of attending a new school is that I'm not that friendly with anyone so they wouldn't notice or care about the faraway, almost dreamy look on my face as I dial Kurt's number.

One ring…two rings…a machine voice telling me to try again later. Fine.

By second period, I notice that something is wrong. Very, very wrong. As I walk to my class, the students part from my way, distancing themselves. It reminds me of the glee losers and nerds when I was carrying slushies. But, that's ridiculous. I haven't bullied anyone in my new school. Not like McKinley, at least. A jock that is nice to everybody and doesn't participate in one or two pranks on the four-eyed freak who lives in the library would seem suspicious…gay.

I enter the class and it falls silent. I can see people glancing my way and looking away when I meet their eyes. A foot suddenly appears between the desks and I skid across the back of the class. "Sorry man, didn't see you there," the runningback, Taylor smirks. "No problem, man." I laugh nervously as I suppress a groan and inconspicuously try to massage my knee. I try to ignore the stares and pay attention to the lesson but it's so difficult. My palms turn sweaty and my pen often slides off my hand to the floor, right beside the second row. "Hey, could you hand me my pen?" I lean forward and try to sound friendly. No one moves or acts as if they heard me. It feels like I'm invisible. It's my only pen so I get up to retrieve it. I think I hear one girl mutter "freak" and I wonder if she's talking about me. I glance down to see if there's something wrong with my appearance or if my zipper is down and reach back to smooth down my clothes.

Same happens when it's time to hand down the homework. Usually the papers get passed from the last row to the first who will pass it to the teacher. But before I know the papers are placed in teacher's desk and no one offered to take mine.

The next class is PE and I drag my feet to the locker room. A strange silence falls on locker room. I could see the guys stepping away from me, keeping their distance. From the corner of my eye Tyler is covering himself up with a shirt, a mocking smile on his face.

_What the actual…_

"Hey, Karofsky!"

"What's up, Nick," I managed to spit casually enough. At least, my voice doesn't shake, so that ought to count as something.

Then I see it. In bright red paint, the color of blood, the statement, the word, haunting me.

_"fag"_

"Homo," someone fake-coughs. My head is spinning and I lose my balance when Nick pushes me back into the locker.

For a moment our eyes lock and all I could see is hate. For a moment, those eyes turn blue-green and I could see Kurt. I push him back and I could sense other guys closing the gap, taunting me. It feels like a scene taken straight from my nightmares.

I run from the locker room, not caring that I'd miss the class. Not caring as I hit the door in my hurry to get out of school.

_It's over, it really is over._

I'm chanting to myself and pull out my phone. I dial Kurt's number, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths to calm down and stop my shaking. It doesn't fucking work.

The number goes straight to voice mail and I hang up. Typing with one hand and the other trying to turn on the ignition, I try to tell Kurt what happened. It's not very coherent and my hands are shaking but I succeed to sum up the situation, "please, please call me."

I'm stuck in the red light when I hear my phone buzz. I accept the call, not checking the number.

"Is it true?"

"Azimio…I…"

"Is it true, what they're saying?"

"Z, please…"

"Is it true, that you asked Hummel out?"

"I…I…"

"I swear to God, Karofsky. Tell me it's not true. I changed my clothes in front of you. I let you sleep in a sleeping bag beside me. Tell me it's not true."

And I can't. Tears are sliding down my cheeks but I can't fucking deny it, because it's the fucking truth.

"I'm so sorry, Z."

"Fucking faggot. Don't you dare call me. I never want to see your face again, you hear me?"

The call ends and I hit my head, forcefully against the wheel. The cars are honking, urging me to move, but where to go? What do I have left?


	2. Go Ahead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a somehow detailed description of the suicide attempt. Please don't read it if it might trigger you.

After Azimio's call, I'm pretty much numb. I can barely feel anything when I reach home. No one's home, I find out soon. I don't bother hanging my clothes and throw them carelessly on the couch, my shoes banging against the floor startling me and make me almost run to my room in a hurry to get away from the cold, quiet room.

I don't know what came over me to open my facebook account, but I wish I never had done it. Or more so, I wish someone had warned me. My breath caught up in my throat, _I had no one._

I looked at my phone to see the anonymous calls and texts listing. I checked the notifications. Reading the first words of the texts gave me a pretty good idea what to expect.

I had to plan something, do some damage control. _Why bother? It's no use_. I had seen Kurt, who damn it, wouldn't answer my calls, get bullied. Hell, I'd been the main cause of that.

I thought back to the memory of an hour ago in gym. Thoughts crowded up my head, going to two completely different directions. One, urging me to man up and get over this. That it won't be that bad. Another, hating every single moment that I was experiencing right now. And wanting it to stop.

When I came to the conclusion of what I'd do next, I can't say that I was surprised or sad or anything. I first thought of doing it at school, right beneath my locker, under the " _fag_ " sign, but the thought of setting foot into school again made my head spin. The thought of living, breathing one more day with this much …. hate, and shame made me sick.

At least I had gotten my first real kiss, my mind tried to comfort me.

I moved around the house. The dark and quiet house didn't seem too scary anymore. I picked up my clothes and hung them carefully on the hanger. Mom would be proud. How many times she'd told me to hang my clothes carefully. I smoothed the wrinkles and moved to the mini-bar in the corner of the living room. Dad kept his best brand of alcohol there. I remembered fantasizing about becoming a man, sharing a drink with him. Well, I could treasure the few minutes I have left of being a man by myself. I pick up the crystal glass and sip the drink, marveling the taste, the feeling, the dizziness.

I visit every corner of the house I could possibly imagine, saying a silent goodbye to the memories each of them held. I go to my closet and select the outfit. It suddenly hits me, I'm choosing the clothes I'm going to be buried with. Suddenly, the smallest detail matters. At last, I choose a new suit that I hadn't worn yet and pick out a belt.

I cradle my phone in my chest, tears blurring the screen as I once again find Kurt's contact number. I let it ring. I just want to say goodbye, but deep down I know I want someone to know, to say that it's alright, and make me stop feeling so fucking stuck. I try again. It's getting late. It's now or never, I decide. I'm not someone with a huge vocabulary so that's why I didn't write it. A letter. I will just let the texts on my phone and the messages on my wall tell my story. _Coward,_ my mind scoffs.

That's why my last text, my last message is going to be the most hilarious last words anyone had ever uttered, "Goodbye, Kurt."

I leave my phone on my bed and test that the knot is firm.

_How fucking pathetic, the gay kid hanging himself in the closet of all places,_ was my last thought before my body began to fight it. Fight for oxygen. I tried to tell it that's it's no use. To suck it up, like it would to a football injury. That it would finish soon. That it would get better.

And then… it did.

For a while.

And then… it didn't.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s warm out there when I open my eyes. It’s my third day in here and it’s been…hard.

“Mom, could you open the window, please?” I whisper. My throat still aches and talking hurts.

“Why? I don’t want you to catch pneumonia. You already have enough diseases on your list.”

Mom has been by my side from the time I got here. So I don’t blame her for being a bit short-tempered.

She sighs and moves over to open the window. I take a deep breath and the room doesn’t seem so stifling anymore. I look outside numbly.  

She sits on my bed and takes my hand in hers. “Sweetie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Once you get out, me and your dad will do everything to get you fixed.”

I nod and cry silently when I know she’s not looking. I know what she’s scared to say, what she’s trying _not to_ say and it breaks my heart.

A nurse comes inside to inform that a group of friends are there to see me. My heartbeat picks up, _is it the jocks? Nick? Are they here to say how miserable I am?_ but I agree anyway. I have nothing better to do.

It’s a group of kids from McKinley and there are some familiar faces from glee club. There’s also a cute kid with dreadlocks who I haven’t seen before, that looks kind of lost. They sit awkwardly for a few minutes and ask about my well being. My mom answers most of them for me, which is sort of a relief. It would’ve embarrassed me if it was any normal situation. But, I guess the past four days hadn’t been exactly normal. And if getting outed and publicly humiliated doesn’t change your outlook on dignity and pride well, dangling from a pole for six minutes before your dad rescues you does.

Still, I can’t shake off the feeling that I used to be their biggest bully and they came to visit me and give me support , with a nice looking fruit basket of all things. To be honest I’m surprised they don’t use this opportunity to mock me or get back at all the horrible things I’ve done to them.

I quietly tell that I’m tired and they leave soon. The medication is on full effect and I choose to sleep off the haziness. I have my last appointment with my doctor before getting discharged and that’s not something you want to do unless you are one hundred percent concentrated.

The nurse comes to check the bruises on my throat and, like clockwork. fifteen minutes later another nurse pops in. It’s amazing really. That these people care that you don’t off yourself. That it’s just _coincidence_ that they happen to check on you every fifteen minutes. What am I going to do, eat the pillow?

He tells me that I have another visitor.

Barely a minute passes and I hear the familiar voice calling to me. He looks paler than the last time I’ve seen him, but still… _glorious_.

_Kurt._

“May I close the door?”

I nod my head as a yes. I don’t feel terrified anymore.


	4. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So if I’m dreaming, don’t wake me up ‘cause I never felt this alive.

I watch as Kurt pushes the chair next to my bed. I feel happy to see him there. It’s a nice change.

“The doctors took me off 72-hour watch.” I decide to break the silence, because he seems at loss for words.

“That's great.” he says, “I'm really happy that you're alive, David.”

I don’t know what to say to _that_ statement. It’s the fourth time, two times my mom and once my dad and now, Kurt had said it to me and I still don’t feel right to say the appropriate response, but I do anyway.

“Me too,” I manage to smile honestly enough.

A shadow falls over his eyes and he looks down, “I should have returned your calls.”

I tell him he’s being ridiculous, even though a part of me is telling _yes, you should have._ So, when I tell him that I deserved it and I should’ve been able to take the abuse for more than a day, I’m mostly talking to myself. “I don't know what to do.” I conclude in the end.

Kurt takes my hand in his, such small hands and cold, my mind idly ponders and looks me fiercely in the eyes.

“I'm not gonna lie to you, it... it isn't gonna be easy. And there'll be some days when...life just sucks. But you're gonna get through this.‘Cause I'm gonna help you.” The last sentence makes me want to fly and I silently break into tears. The enormity of the offer makes me shudder. Kurt, the one that I’d done nothing but horrible to him, the one with more than enough reasons to hate me is offering to _help_ me.

“You’d do that for me?” I croak, not believing that I heard right.

“Of course. And so is everyone else who loves you and accepts you for who you are.”

I then close my eyes and imagine the future Kurt is trying to picture me. A very successful football agent, not bound by the stupid labels, no more hiding, I’d go to all the events, I’d answer all the questions and interviews holding my husband and my little boy’s, _Kurt’s,_ I immediately decide hand. I would never pretend to check girls out to fit in. No more whispers behind me back. And people would actually like me for my work and what I have to offer. _No more pretending_ …

Kurt pats my hand and I come back to real world. Cold reality hits me but I don’t feel cold anymore. I drift off to sleep easily, understanding but not understanding when Kurt brushes my hair away from my face and leaves.


	5. Chapter 5

_“I’m home.”_

I text Kurt and take in my surroundings. I can safely say that I missed my room. The new _improvements_ however, I can’t say the same thing about them. My room is child-proofed, for the lack of better word. The closet is locked, most of the decorations are pulled down, my model airplanes, the thumbtacks I used to pin pictures on my board. The lock on my door is also removed. No jerking off in the middle of the day, I try to amuse myself by the thought. It doesn’t work. I move over to open the window, and it feels slightly better. I’m frustrated by the fact that it doesn’t open completely, as if I’ll somehow go crazy and toss myself out of the window.

“David, we’re leaving in five minutes.” I hear my mom call.  
Oh, right. I’m going to register myself to a new school. I’ll probably start tomorrow. My parents offered that I study at home and I’m tempted to accept but I don’t want to worry them anymore. Besides, I can’t stand being cooped up in a closed room anymore. I want to go to school and fall into a semi-normal schedule. I want to play football as soon as my neck heals and the doctor gives okay.

I look at myself in the mirror, disgusted by the bruises. I decide to wear a scarf, but there isn’t one in my room and my closet remains locked. I guess scarf is in the list of dangerous objects, then. So, I choose a high-necked shirt and an ugly sweater to cover it up. If I don’t rise my head up, it isn’t that visible.

The school isn’t anything special, by far. We’re given a tour by one of the students while the principal is preparing my transfer papers, _stop checking out people, creep_. I laugh silently at the slushie machine in the corner of cafeteria, _happy days._

Soon enough I find myself standing alone in the principal’s office. My mom left to have a private chat with the principal and councilor about the “accommodations” I’ll need. Yeah, right. I roll my eyes at that. I pull out my phone to text. It’s a new number, but I’m still worried about giving out my number to new people.

“Starting therapy today. School sucks.”

This afternoon I have my first therapy session. I’m less than thrilled about it, obviously. I don’t want to think about the past three days. I’d rather pretend it didn’t happen. But, sadly, the first ten sessions are mandatory.

“Good luck at therapy. Stay strong. - Kurt”

I smile briefly at that. I look up when I hear someone clears their throat.

“Umm, hello?”

“Hello dear, I’m Ms. Wright, your social studies teacher. But you can call me Cassie.”

_Yeah, right._

I shake her outstretch hand and mutter, “David.”

“So, I heard you had an unfortunate fall-out at your old school?”

“Umm, yeah.” I reply sheepishly. I try to loosen my top button to get more comfortable.

A few moments of awkward silence falls in the room.

“My cousin’s daughter’s best friend slit her wrists and tried to kill herself. Ruined her life, to be honest.”

I stare at her, open-mouthed, unable to say a thing. She continues, not seeing my discomfort.

 “All I’m saying is Dave, is it okay to I call you Dave, dear? we all have problems. We just have to deal with them. My office is always open for you if you ever need someone to talk to.”

She then pats my shoulder and exits the room. Soon, my mom and the guidance councilor enter.

The following week is torture. Adjusting to new school and therapy isn’t going so well. Everything is so calm and normal. The kids are nice but I can’t feel normal myself. It feels like I’m an alien or they’re talking in another language. Therapy is another dilemma. Spending forty five minutes talking about your school, childhood, parents and all isn’t something I look forward to. Thankfully, I convinced my dad to ditch the last two sessions of therapy. I was all right, I really was.

Mom was acting distant lately. She hadn’t looked me in the eyes since I got discharged. She only drives me to my doctor appointments and then picks me up. I’m unofficially grounded and not allowed to drive my car. At night, I can hear her and my dad fighting. It often ends in both of them dissolving in tears. I often hid in my room and pretended I didn’t know they were fighting about me.

One day, I accidentally found myself in Ms. Wright’s office. The woman was practically drooling, never ending her rant.

“If people tried to deal with their problems instead of taking it out on their body, we wouldn’t have this much suicide cases.”

I couldn’t take anymore.

“I actually hung myself, ma’am. Well, I tried to. Have a good day.”

That’s it. I’m done. I’m really done.

I blindly reach for my phone. Good thing I have Kurt. He’s been the constant thing in my life in the past two weeks. The therapy, my parents fighting and school didn’t seem as overwhelming and scary as it was when he was always on the other end of the line, offering encouraging words.

He was less than thrilled when I told him I wasn’t following therapy. Well, it wasn’t making me feel better and I’m not taking drugs. Also, what would happen if the guys in football find it out? They wouldn’t let me play.

I wanted to feel less stuck, less alone. Or dammit, maybe I just wanted to die. That was the first night I had a text-argue with Kurt about my suicide attempt. I told him that no one would care if I died then got sentimental and texted “Goodbye” and turned my phone off. I barely slept that night and cried more than I had in the past weeks. Maybe I deserved to die.

The next day when I woke up and turned on my phone. I was shocked by the number messages and voicemails, all from Kurt. He was sniffling in the end, his words barely coherent. At first worried and telling me to call him back, then downright hysteric and sobbing.

It felt good, that someone cared for me. I listened to all of the messages twice. I didn’t expect him to react like that. I imagined he’d be relieved.

I got ready for school, feeling relaxed and calm. I could get through the day. I had to. I remembered Kurt’s words. It’s going to get better.

It’s lunch period and I’m sitting in my bench. People don’t usually sit next to me. I’m in a dark mood and that’s a huge warning sign for my happy, _healthy_ schoolmates. That’s when I notice _him._ Kurt is here, looking as glorious as ever. He looks around and when he spots me, he freezes for a second then nods his head once. I nod back. I expect him to come sit next to me but he turns around and hurries to leave the courtyard.

Well, _that_ was weird. What was Kurt doing here?

I feel a buzz in my pocket about half an hour later, alerting me that I did nothing but sit and daydream the entire lunch period. The corner of my mouth pulls up in a smile as I read the text.

_"Act happy, feel happy, be happy, without a reason in the world. Then you can love, and do what you will...- Kurt"_

I replied with a simple smiley face and looked away numbly. I needed to think.


End file.
